Me and My Elf
by skampe
Summary: Morgause only dressed as an elf for the money. It was meant to be a filler job she could escape once Christmas was over, but the new photographer was a part of work she wouldn't mind bringing home. Morcest. MODERN AU


Morcest one-shot for Morganafest 2014. Modern Christmas AU. Because it sounded fun. They're not related in this. Can be continued if anyone wants it or if I get the urge.

**Disclaimer:** Things you recognise belong to the people who are paid for them.

Enjoy.

* * *

The stockings itched, the skirt was too short and the toes of the shoes curled upwards. Morgause felt more like the elf Santa kept in the holiday house Mrs Clause never knew about. When she interviewed for this job the sweaty mall manager Terry told her there would be a second elf to take the pressure and attention off of her. Then again, he barely looked away from his computer, so he may have thought she was two different people.

So that left only her, Marcus and Trevor. Marcus wore the big red suit, though he was a thin Indian man who stuck the white beard over his own impressive dark one, and couldn't bring his own kids to visit because they didn't celebrate Christmas. Morgause had spent most of her time cringing because now the standard number of crying children was added to the ones who refused to sit on the strange man's lap because, 'Mummy, he doesn't look like the picture of Father Christmas on my advent calendar!'

Trevor needed to be on some sort of watch list. He thankfully wasn't too interested in the children, but after standing his rarely washed body too close to Morgause once too often, she dictated the he must stay behind his camera at all times, and yes, that includes any and all interactions with the customers.

A week in, and Trevor decided it would be the perfect time to kick his creep factor up a notch. Santa took the stage at 11a.m., and it was 11:41a.m., according to the elf playing games on her phone because Trevor unfortunately owned the camera, when he stumbled into the plaza and vomited on the oversized candy canes. He then threw his arm around Morgause's shoulders and breathed his rancid whiskey breath into her face.

'Darling, you shouldn't listen to my ex-wife, I'm not actually inper- imtopent- I can get it up whenever I damn well please, and you should really jump on this, because, don't flatter yourself, but you're just my flavour of the month, and I'm not gonna wait around forever for you to get off your damn high horse and lower yourself to my level, even though I could honestly give you the best ride of your life girly, let me tell you-'

Then Marcus, who sped off soon after the first signs of sick, arrived back with the manager, who pulled Trevor off of Morgause and guided him out the nearest exit. Marcus got to go home early, Morgause got to clean the candy canes, and Terry got to find a new photographer who could live up to Trevor's professional standard.

It was two days before Santa's Cave reopened. Morgause arrived early to buy scented candles to hide amongst the candy canes, and was bent over the fake garden when she heard rustling behind her, and a shutter go off. Turning around yielded Morgause three main points of interest: first, the camera was not pointed at her behind, as she expected it to be, but at the big red chair; second, the figure behind the tripod was not a middle aged balding man, but a twenty-something woman; and third, Morgause must have been hallucinating. Life tended not to replace creepy drunk men with pretty girls who had straight black hair falling to their waist, black framed glasses and just enough ear piercings for Morgause to find them exceedingly attractive. She almost wished the camera _had_ been directed at her arse.

While Morgause was momentarily incapacitated and without the forethought to try not to stare, the new girl fussed with the focus on the camera. She popped her head up from behind it and noticed, for apparently the first time, Morgause standing off to the side. Under the harsh fluorescent lights the girl's green irises were large and bright, and her pale skin almost glowed white. Then she smiled.

'Hi,' she said, stepping around the camera to shake Morgause's hand. 'Elf, I presume?'

Morgause filed away the soft Irish brogue caressing those words so it could make her knees weaken at a later date, and grasped the long fingers offered to her. 'At your service,' she replied, taking off her long coat to display the costume. The green, sleeveless dress came to just under her bum, over red and white striped tights and those awful, pointy green shoes. Without her Santa hat, her curled golden hair in its low pigtails must have looked more juvenile than usual. 'I'm Morgause.'

'Morgana,' the other woman replied, moving back to sit on the chair by the cash register. Her brow furrowed and her nose tipped up. 'What's that smell?'

'Your predecessor.' Morgause sat on the second step leading up to the stage. She struggled for a moment to arrange herself as to not flash Morgana, ultimately deciding to forfeit and rest her coat over her knees instead. 'You're not inclined to be sick any time soon, are you?'

'Hadn't planned to.'

'Fantastic. I'm hoping we can pretend it was one of the kids and not scare too many people away.'

Marcus chose that moment to rock in, in full Santa getup. Terry preferred them not walk around in their costumes, but Marcus rarely heeded that advice. He stowed his backpack behind his chair and sat in it primly. 'You're the new photographer?' he asked Morgana.

She nodded. 'Hi.'

A child laughed outside the entrance to the cave set. Morgana clapped her hands and went over to the computer, Marcus adjusted his beard and Morgause went to welcome the first customer.

* * *

The third child of the day squirmed until his mother removed him from the scary man's lap, but not before twisting enough to knee Marcus in the groin. Morgause fetched an ice pack from the staff office, which Marcus wrapped in his spare Christmas hat and shoved down his pants. The four children who followed were accompanied by parents who gave disapproving glares to Santa's enlarged bulge. Morgana distracted them by cooing over the children, Morgause plonked them on Marcus' knee, and Marcus sat as still as possible until the room was clear and he could press the ice closer and hiss as loudly as he wanted.

'Mummy I want to sit on Santy's lap!'

Marcus looked as though he might begin to cry. He visibly flinched at the enthusiasm in the little boy's voice.

'Marcus, you might want to straighten up,' Morgana suggested. 'Father Christmas really shouldn't be holding his crotch and crying.'

Morgause quickened her trek out of the cave to usher in the child, hiding her laughter from Santa. She smiled at the mother, glared at the father when his gaze drifted down her outfit, and grasped the boy's hand to lead him down the fake-snow-flecked red carpet. 'I'm Mitsy the Elf, and I'm going to take you to see Father Christmas! What's your name?'

'My name is Tommy and I can't wait to see Santy, he'll give me all the stuff I want, like a fire truck and a bicycle and Legos-'

'Whoa, save it for Santa!' Morgause said, laughing at the bouncing child. But he wasn't out of breath yet.

'-and marbles and Monopoly and- Look at all those presents! Hi Santa!'

Marcus waved to Tommy, a brave smile covering his cringe. Tommy looked around at all of the wrapped present boxes lining the walls of the cave. He stopped once he was facing Morgana. 'Hi. I'm Tommy. You're pretty.'

Morgana's cheeks pinked slightly and she chuckled awkwardly. 'Thanks, Tommy. I'm Morgana, I'm gonna take photos of you with Santa Claus.'

Tommy nodded, silent for a few more seconds before remembering where he was and turning around and breaking free from Morgause to run towards Santa, whose hands immediately flew from where they had been nervously gripping the arms of the chair to cover his groin. Tommy halted at the top of the steps, tilted his head to the side and said, 'That's weird.' He then climbed gingerly onto Santa's leg, knees pointed safely away from danger.

'Ho, ho, ho,' Marcus chanted, somewhat uncertainly, moving his hands to Tommy's waist. 'What would you like Father Christmas to bring you this year Tommy?'

Tommy repeated the list from before, just as excitedly, then paused, and stared off at a nondescript part of the cave wall. 'I would also like for my friend Christopher to be my boyfriend.'

Marcus' face went blank and pale. Morgause looked over to Morgana, whose wide eyes could be seen peeking out from behind the camera. They all froze for a few seconds, subtly looking between each other, trying to fob the responsibility onto anybody else. Then Tommy's mum laughed.

'Nonsense, Thomas. Such a joker already.' The sparkling smile on her face came cut and paste out of an infomercial. She walked up the stairs and dragged Tommy off of Marcus' lap. 'Come on, darling, time to go.'

'Bye Santa! Bye elf! Bye pretty lady!' Tommy shouted as his mother pulled him faster out of the door. She grabbed her husband on the way, who hadn't moved and clearly did not share the forced ignorance of his wife.

Morgana suddenly turned after them and got a last word in before the family sped out of range. 'Bye Tommy! Good luck with Christopher!'

The mother's shoulders stiffened but the three of them were gone before she could decide to retort. Marcus' response was to shake his head, pull the ice out of his pants and leave after the family, calling, 'I'm going to buy a cup.' Morgause looked to Morgana with a mix of awe and fear. The photographer shrugged.

'She reminded me of my dad,' she said, winking at Morgause before turning to the printer.

Okay, this was when Morgause allowed her knees to weaken. She'd never been quite so fond of Christmas.


End file.
